let them come home

The arm was fucking annoying today. It didn’t hurt – Marcus had been beaten, stabbed, shot, and fucked by half the base by the time he was twenty-five years old, so this didn’t even come close – but it was a constant, nagging throb that began at his metal fingertips and radiated all the way up his arm, into the shoulder where the arm plugged in, and past that. Even the muscles that ran between his neck and shoulder hurt – only they didn’t hurt; he’d felt pain before, and this wasn’t pain. This was just… an ache. And it wasn’t bad. He could handle it. It was fine.

Working took his mind off things, and that was good. Being around Jake helped, too. And being around… other people. Normal people. Being around them, having them be okay with being around him… it was all good. It all helped. It all helped him feel like a person.

It made him feel more normal than the weird, anxious-ass guy who followed Lars around like a puppy all day, that was for fucking sure. Tobias. Wouldn’t last one goddamn week as a Lev, Marcus thought darkly.

No one should have to last a week as a Lev, came a thought on that one’s heels. That thought sounded and felt more like Jake. Marcus was okay with Jake living in his head. The thoughts that mind-Jake came up with were usually nicer than Marcus’s own thoughts, so he almost looked forward to the times they would pop up unannounced.

“Hey, um, Marcus?” came a hesitant voice from the doorway of the room Marcus was deep cleaning with a cloth and toothbrush, breaking his reverie.

Speaking of popping up unannounced.

“Yeah, Tobias,” Marcus said flatly, tilting his head so he could see the kid in his peripherals.

Tobias laced his fingers together in front of himself. “Um… Celeste said she had something for you at the front desk. For you or, um, Jake. But Jake’s giving someone an injection right now, so I just figured I’d—”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Marcus said, pushing himself from his hands and knees to his feet. He towered over Tobias once he was upright. The kid stepped backward into the hall to let him pass, and Marcus shouldered his way toward the front desk.

Celeste glanced up at him as he approached, then reached under the desk to hand him a white paper bag. “Your boy’s next dose came in,” she said as she handed the package out to him.

Marcus tore the bag open and fumbled with the orange pill bottle inside. “Next dose of…” He trailed off as he read the name on the bottle. A trickle of icy cold ran down the back of his neck.

Quinton, Robert.

“PEP,” Celeste said, waving her hand dismissively at the bottle.

Marcus stared at the bottle in his hand, reading the name over and over again. Quinton, Robert. He could see the name tag in his mind: white stamped into black, shiny and perfectly straight on a forest green uniform.

Robert             Quinton

Colonel            AMTEC

He could see the nametag on the jacket after it had been taken off and laid across the desk. He could see it close to his face as he was bent over that desk, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down as he was spread apart and fucked.

He felt the scar on his hip flare to life, as if the lit cigar had been pressed there all over again.

He raised his gaze to Celeste, only too aware that he had frozen in front of her. “Wh-whose meds are these?” he managed through numb lips.

“Oh, they’re Jake’s,” she said distractedly as she adjusted her chair. “I just put them in under my dad’s name as a fuck you to—”

Marcus let out a choked sound. “Your dad.”

At that, Celeste looked up at him. She must have seen something in Marcus’s face, because her eyes went wide. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Why…?”

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus breathed. “Your… dad… And is he… AMTEC?”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ colonel or something, last time I heard,” Celeste snapped. “Why, are you…” She took a breath. “Fuck, Marcus, are you okay?”

He nodded automatically. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll… take these to Jake, and—”

“Wait,” Celeste whispered. “Did he… Did you know him?”

Gritting his teeth, grinding his forehead against the desk. One hand squeezing into a fist as his arm was pulled behind his back – not that he would have fought, not the colonel.

Not that he would have fought a fucking corporal. No one would have batted an eye at any of the enlisted or officers using him, as long as they didn’t damage him. By the time the colonel got to him, he’d already been so run through, it was practically expected. So he just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together against the sick motion into him, the pain – that was pain – the horrible humiliation of having his pants around his ankles and his ass out for fucking.

Robert Quinton. He wasn’t even the worst, even with the cigar burn. He’d only fucked him two or three times, hadn’t even smacked Marcus around beforehand.

Celeste had asked him a question. Did you know him? “Yeah,” Marcus croaked.

She was watching him. There was no one else in the lobby, he realized belatedly, and for that he was profoundly grateful.

“Fucked you up, huh?” Celeste said.

Marcus just nodded again. He would have agreed to anything she said, really. He couldn’t feel his fingers. The pill bottle in his hand rattled. He nearly dropped it.

“Yeah, well.” She twisted her back in her chair. “Welcome to the fuckin’ club.”

He looked at her. “…what?”

She kept her eyes down, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. “What is there to tell? He was trying to make me go into the AMTEC officer academy. Made me get the senator letters, submit my high school transcript, everything. I was set to go. I told him I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t hear it. Something about ‘making me a real man’ or some bullshit like that. He threatened to cut me off if I didn’t go. He owned my phone, my car, read my messages, tracked me everywhere…” She shrugged. “So the night before I was supposed to ship out, I fell down the stairs.”

Marcus blinked. “You… fell?”

“I fell.” She traced her finger along her wrist.

Along a scar at her wrist. A surgical scar.

“Oh,” Marcus breathed.

Celeste let out a bitter laugh. “AMTEC is very strict about who they let in. Or at least, who they let be an officer. They’ll let anyone join their fuckin’ city goon squad, but for the upper echelon, they have this, like… hundred-point physical you have to pass. You can’t have any ‘physical or mental defects’. At least when you’re a cadet.”

“I know,” Marcus said softly. “Levs have the same requirements.”

“Right.” She let out a bitter laugh. “When I fell, I broke my back, and fucked up my wrist pretty bad. I can do a desk job, but they won’t let anyone in who’s only cut out for that. Something about… battle readiness or some stupid shit like that. Plus, they don’t let trannies in at all now.” She snorted. “Dad wouldn’t pay any of my medical bills and kicked me off his insurance. Had to rely on the fuckin’ poor people shit, and that covers pretty much nothing. Ended up on a friend’s couch begging for mutual aid online. That’s how I met Lars, actually.”

Marcus didn’t say anything. The bottle was heating up in his hand.

“They saw my posts and let me crash on their couch, taught me some PT that actually helped a lot. They helped get me the job at the lab I work at now. And then when they started this place, I obviously had to help. So. Long story short, I guess, fuck that guy.” She pointed at the medicine bottle clutched in Marcus’s hand.

Marcus wet his lips. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you, so, it’s fine.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “I, um. I didn’t know, either. He’s kind of a monster, but it sucks finding out he was a monster to… someone else, too. Not surprising. Just shitty.”

Hearing the older man grunt as he pounded into Marcus, hearing their bodies slap against each other, hearing the colonel’s belt buckle jingle with each thrust, all while Marcus takes it in perfect silence. He’s been trained to handle pain. He can take far more than this without screaming.

“Y-yeah,” Marcus breathed. “Yeah, it’s… shitty.” He turned to go.

“I’ll see if I can get the scrip under a new name,” Celeste said to his back. “Since… I’ll see if I can do that.”

He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Thank you, Celeste,” he said, and she buzzed him back through the door. Once he was alone again, he peeled the label off the bottle and tucked it back into the torn white paper bag.

If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.

Isaac felt weak with relief when Gavin pushed open the sliding door to the back yard and walked into the kitchen - bringing Morja in tow, their hands clasped together. Isaac’s eyes fixed on their hands, dread sliding into his chest like a knife. His gaze crept upward until it met Gavin’s. Gavin inclined his chin, and Isaac saw the truth written on Gavin’s face, stark as a death sentence. 

We were wrong. 

Isaac’s throat tightened. He swallowed so that he could breathe again and looked at Morja. 

Morja’s face was red, his eyes swollen and fixed on Isaac’s face with a wary sort of hope that made Isaac’s chest ache. 

Isaac took two steps forward. Morja didn’t flinch away, the way Isaac feared he might. He didn’t go rigid the way Isaac would have. Instead, Morja leaned forward, and the faintest sound of a whimper left his throat. 

“Isaac,” Gavin murmured. “We fucked up.”

Isaac looked at Gavin once more, his hands spasming at his sides. 

Gavin held out the hand he had clasped with Morja’s, as if offering it to Isaac. “I think you two should talk,” he said. “But…” He faltered, and his eyes shone for a moment. “He isn’t like you, Isaac,” he said. “Are you okay with being touched, Morja?”

Morja wet his lips as he looked at Isaac. “Y-yes,” he breathed. “Please.” 

Isaac nodded. He took Morja’s hand and felt the shudder that coursed through Morja’s body at the touch. He turned toward the couch. “Do you want to sit? We can just…?”

Morja’s eyes flicked toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Isaac felt his body rebel at even the suggestion. 

I can’t take him to my room so soon after–

If it were me, I would have killed him if he tried to–

But Morja wasn’t him. That’s what Gavin said. And Morja said he was alright with… at least this much, so far. 

“You… want to go to my room?” Isaac rasped. 

Morja nodded, looking like he was half expecting to be laughed at for the suggestion. Isaac turned to lead Morja to their room, throwing a glance back at Gavin. Gavin’s tears had spilled over and were running down his cheeks.

Isaac led Morja down the hallway, fingers squeezing Morja’s warm hand. Once they reached the bedroom, he shut the door and sat down on the bed. Morja stood in the center of the room, arms wrapped around himself, trembling in every limb. Guilt seared through Isaac’s chest as he realized Morja had tears sliding down his face. 

He’d never seen Morja cry - not really. Not when Isaac had held him through the worst of Finn cleaning his wounds. Not when Morja thought the family was going to kill him when he first arrived here. Not after Schiester tortured him. 

But… this had done it. This. Isaac’s mistake. Isaac’s catastrophic fucking misread of the situation. 

His hand was shaking as he held it out. “Morja,” he said. “I… I only thought–”

Morja didn’t take his hand. He didn’t sit down on the bed beside him, either. He collapsed to the floor at Isaac’s feet, weeping softly, and pressed his forehead against Isaac’s thigh. 

“No,” Isaac breathed as he slid off the bed and wrapped his arms around Morja. Morja only cried harder, bawling into Isaac’s neck as Morja wrapped his arms tight around him. Morja clung to him, crying like his heart was broken. Tears burned in Isaac’s eyes. 

“Please,” Morja sobbed. “Please… let me stay? Please, please, Isaac, I’ll never ask for anything, I’ll… I never will, I… I want to be here, please.”

“Fuck,” Isaac whispered. He buried his face in Morja’s hair. “I’m so sorry, Morja. I… I didn’t… I was just trying to give you space, I… I thought… you might want space, after…” 

Morja only sobbed harder, his arms locking around Isaac’s neck. 

Isaac squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I thought…”

I thought I was going to watch you die.

How many more times am I going to think I’m about to watch my family die?

His stomach clenched. He thought he’d been about to watch Morja die. And then he’d hurt Morja by being so, so wrong about this. For weeks. 

He’d left Morja alone with the fear and pain for weeks.

They were so alike in so many ways. They were so goddamn alike. But in this small way… Morja wasn’t like him at all. Morja needed this. Maybe from the very beginning, he needed this. 

Carefully, Isaac kissed into Morja’s hair. Morja let out a choked sound and turned his face toward Isaac’s. Isaac kissed his cheek, damp with tears. Then the corner of his mouth. Then his lips. 

Morja gasped softly. “Isaac.” He pressed their foreheads together, cupped Isaac’s face in his hand. 

This was too much. Isaac was doing too much. He was going to hurt Morja. He was being selfish; just because he missed Morja these past few weeks - just because he’d wondered if Morja was ever going to want him again, ever going to want to touch him again - didn’t mean he should be pushing things this far. If it were Isaac, he would have–

Softly, tentatively, Morja kissed him back, soft sobs still shaking his chest. Isaac let out a shaky breath. 

“You’re so good?” Morja said brokenly. “You’re so brave? I-I didn’t think–”

Isaac pulled back and searched Morja’s face with his gaze. Morja’s eyes were squeezed shut. 

“I didn’t think you would… that you… knew… what you signed up for, for me.” 

Isaac’s eyes went hard. “You were a diathésimos,” he rasped. “I knew from the first day we met that you had been… that that had been…” 

Morja’s brows pulled together. He opened his eyes. “Oh,” he whispered. 

“Yeah.” Isaac kissed his forehead, then both cheeks. They sat on the floor together for a long time, holding each other. Isaac felt Morja’s heartbeat through his ribs. He felt the warm solidity of his body, the strength of his arms, the roughness of his hands. He felt Morja, and felt the ache in his throat at how much he’d missed this. 

Morja heaved a shaky breath. “Isaac?” he murmured.

“Yeah?”

“May–” Isaac heard Morja swallow, and felt his heartbeat speed up. “Can I–” Then, slowly, he disentangled himself from Isaac’s arms. Isaac felt the hollowness of the loss. His clothes began to cool without Morja near him anymore. Morja leaned down and rested his cheek on Isaac’s thigh, curling into a ball on the floor, looking impossibly small for such a broad man. Isaac’s hand rested in Morja’s hair. “Can I rest here… please?”

Isaac patted the bedspread next to him. “Do you want to just come up here? Take a nap with me?”

Morja swallowed again. “Could I…” He spoke the rest in a rush. “Could I lay at the foot of your bed?”

It was Isaac’s turn to swallow. His stomach felt cold. “...wh-why?”

Morja’s face and neck flushed. He pressed his face into Isaac’s lap. “Feels… safe,” he said, his voice small. “Can be close and feels…” He shook his head and didn’t say anything else. 

Isaac wet his lips. “Um…”

“I’m sorry if that’s too much,” Morja breathed. 

It wasn’t… it wasn’t the same. His place with Rosa had been keeping watch, sleeping on the floor, cleaning their weapons, and patrolling their camp. And with Colleen, he’d been chained to Gavin’s bed like a pet. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.

But for Morja… if this was what he needed, after Isaac had already fucked this up so badly…

“Y-yeah, Morja,” he said weakly. “If you… if that’s what you need.” 

He pushed himself to his feet and helped Morja up alongside him. Morja looked up at him, his face so open, eyes so vulnerable and trusting. Isaac’s chest ached once more. He leaned down to kiss Morja.

I’m sorry. 

Morja kissed him back. 

It was Morja who broke the kiss. He took Isaac’s hand and pulled him to the bed. Isaac laid down, half expecting Morja to change his mind and climb in right beside him. Instead, Morja crawled to the foot of the bed and stretched out on his side, eyes turned up toward Isaac. 

Isaac felt a little strange looking down at him. “That okay?” he whispered. 

Morja nodded and leaned his arm against Isaac’s calf. “It’s… it’s good, Isaac,” he said. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah.” Isaac’s lips trembled, and he pressed them together for a moment. “I’m… I’m here, Morja. I’m always gonna be… right here.” 

More tears flooded Morja’s eyes. He pressed his forehead to Isaac’s leg and heaved a long, contented sigh. 

Title is from this song, which is the song for Isaac/Morja:

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make his lungs expand past the coiled tension crushing the air from him. He saw his hands pressed against the dusty planks of the barn floor, saw his long black hair swinging gently forward and back in front of his face - rocking. He was rocking in place and couldn’t make himself stop. He wasn’t alone in the barn, though. 

His despair was too heavy, too smothering, for him to feel truly alone. It was a wet blanket thrown over the fire of his terror. He was choking on the smoke. His throat constricted around it. He couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

His brain couldn’t form thoughts coherent enough to solve the puzzle in front of him - though he knew there was a solution, knew that if he wasn’t so slow and stupid the solution would present itself. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that burned in his eyes, blotting out the sight of the barn, only marginally ratcheting down the chaos in his head - as fact after fact broke over him. 

Morja had failed this family, in allowing the mayor to come and hurt them in their own home.

Morja had watched - uselessly, useless - as Isaac was forced to watch his sibling be harmed, and then to himself harm his lover. 

Morja had lied to this family and allowed them to think him whole, clean, worthy, so much so that Isaac and Gavin had both taken him to their bed. They had both been inside him. Isaac had put his mouth on him. Morja had allowed them to fuck him, knowing himself to be so broken, so filthy, so wretched. 

And now, in his shame, he was choosing to hide and spy on their love like a vulgar snoop in the bushes. 

He knew all this. He knew it. And yet, the thought that pummeled him between each terrible truth was: I’ll never be touched that way again.

He didn’t deserve it. He knew he didn’t. But his skin ached with the truth of it. I’ll never be touched that way again.

“Morja?” called a familiar voice at the barn door. 

Morja jerked. He whimpered softly and pressed his hands over his eyes, hiding his tears as best he could. He had to… he must be alright. He was in perfect working condition; he had no excuse to not answer Gavin’s call. He dashed the tears from his eyes and smeared his sleeve under his nose. “Y-yes?” he answered weakly. “What do you need?”

Am I needed? 

He knew he should get to his feet and go to Gavin. He… he should. But as he fought to steady himself, he heard Gavin’s footsteps draw close - and then closer. Gavin knelt beside him on the dusty barn floor, so close his knee nearly touched Morja’s fingers. His hands rested on his knees. 

“Morja,” he said gently. “Are you…?”

Morja couldn’t help it. He wasn’t a human being anymore; he was a snake striking at movement, a bee stinging a foe, a dog clamping its jaws on an intruder. He was helpless to resist the urge that seized his hand and wouldn’t release him. He might as well have been drowning, and Gavin the rope thrown to him. He reached out with a shaking hand and grasped Gavin’s sleeve.

He knew he shouldn’t. It was unforgivable to do this - to reach out and grab like this. He stared up at Gavin with raw, frightened eyes. He was powerless to let go, now that Gavin was this close. 

“P-please?” he choked. He couldn’t say the words that pressed behind those: please touch me, please hug me, please forgive me. What he was already doing was bad enough. 

Gavin’s throat bobbed. He didn’t pull away. “I’m so… sorry, Morja,” he whispered. “We missed this, didn’t we?”

The air was coming too fast, now. Morja pressed his face into Gavin’s arm, then his chest, shaking, his tears soaking into Gavin’s shirt. His fingers clutched Gavin’s waist as he held him tight, knuckles white, his chest heaving with each broken sob. The air around him was boiling. The barn was loud with his pain. 

“Hey,” Gavin murmured. “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Breathe, Morja, please…” His fingers laced through Morja’s hair as Gavin held him gently, the first touch he’d felt in weeks. The first touch that wasn’t the sense memory of other hands, so many hands, hands holding him down, grabbing him, hands that twisted and lashed and spread and hurt–

“I’m sorry,” Morja wailed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry please? Please, Gavin, don’t… don’t go, I… I’ll do it right, I’ll do anything, just, please–”

“Morja,” Gavin soothed. “Breathe, please? I got you, let me just–”

“I’m sorry I, ah, ‘m touching you but please let me stay, please…” 

Gavin froze. His hand paused in the gentle circles it was making in Morja’s hair. 

Morja let out an anguished howl. He reached up and held Gavin’s hand firmly in his hair, knowing it was bad, knowing he shouldn’t, but helpless to do anything else. “I kn-know you wouldn’t want t-to fuck me again but please, please, this, please…” 

“Shh. It’s okay.” Gavin’s arms tightened around Morja, and his hand made gentle circles in Morja’s hair once more. “I’m… fuck, I’m sorry, Morja. We should have… I should have seen this.” 

Morja shuddered and gritted his teeth. His apologies were worthless - he had known the thing was unforgivable, and gone and done it anyway - but he still had to try. “I kn-know I… disgust you. I’m sorry I didn’t… didn’t tell you… tell Isaac…” He pressed his face into Gavin’s shirt. He would take this touch while he had it. He felt like he would die when it ended. 

Gavin just kept touching him, though. “You didn’t ever have to tell us. That should have been yours to tell, or not.” 

Perhaps if he had told them from the very beginning, he could have prevented all of this. Perhaps he would never have had something to lose, with them, and would never have suffered the pain of losing it. A fresh wave of pain broke over him as he remembered how careful everyone had been over the past few weeks to avoid touching him, how complete his isolation from that had been. He swallowed hard. His throat hurt from crying. 

“If I had told you?” he whimpered. “Would–” 

The picture was sudden: Isaac’s face, blank and expressionless, avoiding Morja’s gaze, the exact same way he’d looked when he first met Morja. Back when he saw Morja plainly: a threat to the family, an outsider, a liability. 

A diathésimos. 

He shuddered. “Would you still… have wanted me?”

Gavin answered immediately and simply: “I still want Isaac.” 

Only Gavin’s hand in his hair, and his arms around him, were keeping him from flying apart. “Would… He doesn’t have to. But… would… Do you think he’d ever… touch me again?”

Gavin went still. Morja crumpled. 

When Gavin finally spoke, Morja listened to the sound of Gavin’s voice moving through his chest. “He… Morja… I’m so sorry. We’ve been holding off because… we thought you wouldn’t want to be touched. After… after everything.” 

The tightness in Morja’s chest loosened by a single degree - but that was dangerous. It was so fucking dangerous to want. 

He tried it anyway. 

“I want… Please? I want…”

It didn’t have to be soon. He couldn’t possibly hope for it to be soon, not after everything that had happened, it would break him if it wasn’t true… But the idea that Isaac might want to touch him again, ever, made Morja feel like he didn’t want the earth to swallow him whole. Maybe if the family wanted him - not right now, but maybe one day - he might be able to breathe freely someday. 

“It’s… all I want. Please?”

Gavin gently shifted Morja in his arms and cradled Morja’s face. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, and both cheeks. Not his mouth, but… Morja knew that would be asking too much. This was already so much. It was more than he ever thought he would have again. 

“I’m sorry,” Gavin said. “We fucked this up. We… we thought you’d be… like him, when he’s… like this.” 

Morja looked up at him, face nakedly open, eyes pouring tears. He tilted his head into Gavin’s hands. The touch was almost overwhelming - but Morja still held tight to Gavin’s shirt. 

Even so, Gavin’s words slowly reached him. Morja sniffed and swallowed hard. “...when he’s like this,” he croaked. “I’m sorry.” 

It wasn’t an apology. It was perhaps the first I’m sorry he’d uttered that wasn’t an apology. 

Gavin chewed his lip and stroked his thumb back and forth along Morja’s cheekbone. “He wouldn’t mind you knowing,” he said softly. “And he… also wouldn’t want to be the one to say it. The only reason I kn-knew about it was because it… was done… right in front of me. But he wouldn’t have had to tell me, either, if it hadn’t happened that way. That’s how it works.” He nudged Morja’s chin up. Morja whined softly. “You’re so alike, Morja,” Gavin said. “We just thought you were… that you needed the same things. But he does still want you. He just… thought that you needed time. That’s what he needed. He needed weeks before he let anyone touch him again. Months before we could have sex. I’m sorry. We just… we just thought…” 

Morja threw himself into Gavin’s neck, sobbing with abandon. It was half grief, half understanding. Half believing, half afraid this would all be ripped away from him, even now. He buried his face in Gavin’s shoulder and muffled his sobs in his shirt. 

“I’m sorry, Morja,” Gavin whispered. “I’m so sorry. Truly.” 

Morja just shook his head, holding Gavin as tight as he could, loath to let him go. He would sooner die. He would sooner return to the mayor, if there was still a mayor to return to. 

After a long time, Gavin slid his hand up the back of Morja’s neck and scratched his nape. “Hey,” he said. “Let’s go inside, Morja. Let’s go inside and talk to Isaac. Okay? He’s… he’s worried, too.” 

Morja pulled away and met Gavin’s gaze, his eyes red and raw. Gavin cradled his face with both hands. “I promise, okay? Let’s go talk to Isaac. I promise. We’ll… It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Let’s just go talk.” 

Morja still couldn’t bring himself to believe it - not yet. But as Gavin helped him up, and then kept his hand clasped in his as they made their way back to the house, Morja could allow himself to feel a tendril of hope.

Continued here

Title is from this song, which is the song for Isaac/Morja:

The arm was fucking annoying today. It didn’t hurt – Marcus had been beaten, stabbed, shot, and fucked by half the base by the time he was twenty-five years old, so this didn’t even come close – but it was a constant, nagging throb that began at his metal fingertips and radiated all the way up his arm, into the shoulder where the arm plugged in, and past that. Even the muscles that ran between his neck and shoulder hurt – only they didn’t hurt; he’d felt pain before, and this wasn’t pain. This was just… an ache. And it wasn’t bad. He could handle it. It was fine.

Working took his mind off things, and that was good. Being around Jake helped, too. And being around… other people. Normal people. Being around them, having them be okay with being around him… it was all good. It all helped. It all helped him feel like a person.

It made him feel more normal than the weird, anxious-ass guy who followed Lars around like a puppy all day, that was for fucking sure. Tobias. Wouldn’t last one goddamn week as a Lev, Marcus thought darkly.

No one should have to last a week as a Lev, came a thought on that one’s heels. That thought sounded and felt more like Jake. Marcus was okay with Jake living in his head. The thoughts that mind-Jake came up with were usually nicer than Marcus’s own thoughts, so he almost looked forward to the times they would pop up unannounced.

“Hey, um, Marcus?” came a hesitant voice from the doorway of the room Marcus was deep cleaning with a cloth and toothbrush, breaking his reverie.

Speaking of popping up unannounced.

“Yeah, Tobias,” Marcus said flatly, tilting his head so he could see the kid in his peripherals.

Tobias laced his fingers together in front of himself. “Um… Celeste said she had something for you at the front desk. For you or, um, Jake. But Jake’s giving someone an injection right now, so I just figured I’d—”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Marcus said, pushing himself from his hands and knees to his feet. He towered over Tobias once he was upright. The kid stepped backward into the hall to let him pass, and Marcus shouldered his way toward the front desk.

Celeste glanced up at him as he approached, then reached under the desk to hand him a white paper bag. “Your boy’s next dose came in,” she said as she handed the package out to him.

Marcus tore the bag open and fumbled with the orange pill bottle inside. “Next dose of…” He trailed off as he read the name on the bottle. A trickle of icy cold ran down the back of his neck.

Quinton, Robert.

“PEP,” Celeste said, waving her hand dismissively at the bottle.

Marcus stared at the bottle in his hand, reading the name over and over again. Quinton, Robert. He could see the name tag in his mind: white stamped into black, shiny and perfectly straight on a forest green uniform.

Robert             Quinton

Colonel            AMTEC

He could see the nametag on the jacket after it had been taken off and laid across the desk. He could see it close to his face as he was bent over that desk, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down as he was spread apart and fucked.

He felt the scar on his hip flare to life, as if the lit cigar had been pressed there all over again.

He raised his gaze to Celeste, only too aware that he had frozen in front of her. “Wh-whose meds are these?” he managed through numb lips.

“Oh, they’re Jake’s,” she said distractedly as she adjusted her chair. “I just put them in under my dad’s name as a fuck you to—”

Marcus let out a choked sound. “Your dad.”

At that, Celeste looked up at him. She must have seen something in Marcus’s face, because her eyes went wide. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Why…?”

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus breathed. “Your… dad… And is he… AMTEC?”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ colonel or something, last time I heard,” Celeste snapped. “Why, are you…” She took a breath. “Fuck, Marcus, are you okay?”

He nodded automatically. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll… take these to Jake, and—”

“Wait,” Celeste whispered. “Did he… Did you know him?”

Gritting his teeth, grinding his forehead against the desk. One hand squeezing into a fist as his arm was pulled behind his back – not that he would have fought, not the colonel.

Not that he would have fought a fucking corporal. No one would have batted an eye at any of the enlisted or officers using him, as long as they didn’t damage him. By the time the colonel got to him, he’d already been so run through, it was practically expected. So he just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together against the sick motion into him, the pain – that was pain – the horrible humiliation of having his pants around his ankles and his ass out for fucking.

Robert Quinton. He wasn’t even the worst, even with the cigar burn. He’d only fucked him two or three times, hadn’t even smacked Marcus around beforehand.

Celeste had asked him a question. Did you know him? “Yeah,” Marcus croaked.

She was watching him. There was no one else in the lobby, he realized belatedly, and for that he was profoundly grateful.

“Fucked you up, huh?” Celeste said.

Marcus just nodded again. He would have agreed to anything she said, really. He couldn’t feel his fingers. The pill bottle in his hand rattled. He nearly dropped it.

“Yeah, well.” She twisted her back in her chair. “Welcome to the fuckin’ club.”

He looked at her. “…what?”

She kept her eyes down, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. “What is there to tell? He was trying to make me go into the AMTEC officer academy. Made me get the senator letters, submit my high school transcript, everything. I was set to go. I told him I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t hear it. Something about ‘making me a real man’ or some bullshit like that. He threatened to cut me off if I didn’t go. He owned my phone, my car, read my messages, tracked me everywhere…” She shrugged. “So the night before I was supposed to ship out, I fell down the stairs.”

Marcus blinked. “You… fell?”

“I fell.” She traced her finger along her wrist.

Along a scar at her wrist. A surgical scar.

“Oh,” Marcus breathed.

Celeste let out a bitter laugh. “AMTEC is very strict about who they let in. Or at least, who they let be an officer. They’ll let anyone join their fuckin’ city goon squad, but for the upper echelon, they have this, like… hundred-point physical you have to pass. You can’t have any ‘physical or mental defects’. At least when you’re a cadet.”

“I know,” Marcus said softly. “Levs have the same requirements.”

“Right.” She let out a bitter laugh. “When I fell, I broke my back, and fucked up my wrist pretty bad. I can do a desk job, but they won’t let anyone in who’s only cut out for that. Something about… battle readiness or some stupid shit like that. Plus, they don’t let trannies in at all now.” She snorted. “Dad wouldn’t pay any of my medical bills and kicked me off his insurance. Had to rely on the fuckin’ poor people shit, and that covers pretty much nothing. Ended up on a friend’s couch begging for mutual aid online. That’s how I met Lars, actually.”

Marcus didn’t say anything. The bottle was heating up in his hand.

“They saw my posts and let me crash on their couch, taught me some PT that actually helped a lot. They helped get me the job at the lab I work at now. And then when they started this place, I obviously had to help. So. Long story short, I guess, fuck that guy.” She pointed at the medicine bottle clutched in Marcus’s hand.

Marcus wet his lips. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you, so, it’s fine.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “I, um. I didn’t know, either. He’s kind of a monster, but it sucks finding out he was a monster to… someone else, too. Not surprising. Just shitty.”

Hearing the older man grunt as he pounded into Marcus, hearing their bodies slap against each other, hearing the colonel’s belt buckle jingle with each thrust, all while Marcus takes it in perfect silence. He’s been trained to handle pain. He can take far more than this without screaming.

“Y-yeah,” Marcus breathed. “Yeah, it’s… shitty.” He turned to go.

“I’ll see if I can get the scrip under a new name,” Celeste said to his back. “Since… I’ll see if I can do that.”

He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Thank you, Celeste,” he said, and she buzzed him back through the door. Once he was alone again, he peeled the label off the bottle and tucked it back into the torn white paper bag.

If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.

The arm was fucking annoying today. It didn’t hurt – Marcus had been beaten, stabbed, shot, and fucked by half the base by the time he was twenty-five years old, so this didn’t even come close – but it was a constant, nagging throb that began at his metal fingertips and radiated all the way up his arm, into the shoulder where the arm plugged in, and past that. Even the muscles that ran between his neck and shoulder hurt – only they didn’t hurt; he’d felt pain before, and this wasn’t pain. This was just… an ache. And it wasn’t bad. He could handle it. It was fine.

Working took his mind off things, and that was good. Being around Jake helped, too. And being around… other people. Normal people. Being around them, having them be okay with being around him… it was all good. It all helped. It all helped him feel like a person.

It made him feel more normal than the weird, anxious-ass guy who followed Lars around like a puppy all day, that was for fucking sure. Tobias. Wouldn’t last one goddamn week as a Lev, Marcus thought darkly.

No one should have to last a week as a Lev, came a thought on that one’s heels. That thought sounded and felt more like Jake. Marcus was okay with Jake living in his head. The thoughts that mind-Jake came up with were usually nicer than Marcus’s own thoughts, so he almost looked forward to the times they would pop up unannounced.

“Hey, um, Marcus?” came a hesitant voice from the doorway of the room Marcus was deep cleaning with a cloth and toothbrush, breaking his reverie.

Speaking of popping up unannounced.

“Yeah, Tobias,” Marcus said flatly, tilting his head so he could see the kid in his peripherals.

Tobias laced his fingers together in front of himself. “Um… Celeste said she had something for you at the front desk. For you or, um, Jake. But Jake’s giving someone an injection right now, so I just figured I’d—”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Marcus said, pushing himself from his hands and knees to his feet. He towered over Tobias once he was upright. The kid stepped backward into the hall to let him pass, and Marcus shouldered his way toward the front desk.

Celeste glanced up at him as he approached, then reached under the desk to hand him a white paper bag. “Your boy’s next dose came in,” she said as she handed the package out to him.

Marcus tore the bag open and fumbled with the orange pill bottle inside. “Next dose of…” He trailed off as he read the name on the bottle. A trickle of icy cold ran down the back of his neck.

Quinton, Robert.

“PEP,” Celeste said, waving her hand dismissively at the bottle.

Marcus stared at the bottle in his hand, reading the name over and over again. Quinton, Robert. He could see the name tag in his mind: white stamped into black, shiny and perfectly straight on a forest green uniform.

Robert             Quinton

Colonel            AMTEC

He could see the nametag on the jacket after it had been taken off and laid across the desk. He could see it close to his face as he was bent over that desk, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down as he was spread apart and fucked.

He felt the scar on his hip flare to life, as if the lit cigar had been pressed there all over again.

He raised his gaze to Celeste, only too aware that he had frozen in front of her. “Wh-whose meds are these?” he managed through numb lips.

“Oh, they’re Jake’s,” she said distractedly as she adjusted her chair. “I just put them in under my dad’s name as a fuck you to—”

Marcus let out a choked sound. “Your dad.”

At that, Celeste looked up at him. She must have seen something in Marcus’s face, because her eyes went wide. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Why…?”

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus breathed. “Your… dad… And is he… AMTEC?”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ colonel or something, last time I heard,” Celeste snapped. “Why, are you…” She took a breath. “Fuck, Marcus, are you okay?”

He nodded automatically. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll… take these to Jake, and—”

“Wait,” Celeste whispered. “Did he… Did you know him?”

Gritting his teeth, grinding his forehead against the desk. One hand squeezing into a fist as his arm was pulled behind his back – not that he would have fought, not the colonel.

Not that he would have fought a fucking corporal. No one would have batted an eye at any of the enlisted or officers using him, as long as they didn’t damage him. By the time the colonel got to him, he’d already been so run through, it was practically expected. So he just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together against the sick motion into him, the pain – that was pain – the horrible humiliation of having his pants around his ankles and his ass out for fucking.

Robert Quinton. He wasn’t even the worst, even with the cigar burn. He’d only fucked him two or three times, hadn’t even smacked Marcus around beforehand.

Celeste had asked him a question. Did you know him? “Yeah,” Marcus croaked.

She was watching him. There was no one else in the lobby, he realized belatedly, and for that he was profoundly grateful.

“Fucked you up, huh?” Celeste said.

Marcus just nodded again. He would have agreed to anything she said, really. He couldn’t feel his fingers. The pill bottle in his hand rattled. He nearly dropped it.

“Yeah, well.” She twisted her back in her chair. “Welcome to the fuckin’ club.”

He looked at her. “…what?”

She kept her eyes down, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. “What is there to tell? He was trying to make me go into the AMTEC officer academy. Made me get the senator letters, submit my high school transcript, everything. I was set to go. I told him I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t hear it. Something about ‘making me a real man’ or some bullshit like that. He threatened to cut me off if I didn’t go. He owned my phone, my car, read my messages, tracked me everywhere…” She shrugged. “So the night before I was supposed to ship out, I fell down the stairs.”

Marcus blinked. “You… fell?”

“I fell.” She traced her finger along her wrist.

Along a scar at her wrist. A surgical scar.

“Oh,” Marcus breathed.

Celeste let out a bitter laugh. “AMTEC is very strict about who they let in. Or at least, who they let be an officer. They’ll let anyone join their fuckin’ city goon squad, but for the upper echelon, they have this, like… hundred-point physical you have to pass. You can’t have any ‘physical or mental defects’. At least when you’re a cadet.”

“I know,” Marcus said softly. “Levs have the same requirements.”

“Right.” She let out a bitter laugh. “When I fell, I broke my back, and fucked up my wrist pretty bad. I can do a desk job, but they won’t let anyone in who’s only cut out for that. Something about… battle readiness or some stupid shit like that. Plus, they don’t let trannies in at all now.” She snorted. “Dad wouldn’t pay any of my medical bills and kicked me off his insurance. Had to rely on the fuckin’ poor people shit, and that covers pretty much nothing. Ended up on a friend’s couch begging for mutual aid online. That’s how I met Lars, actually.”

Marcus didn’t say anything. The bottle was heating up in his hand.

“They saw my posts and let me crash on their couch, taught me some PT that actually helped a lot. They helped get me the job at the lab I work at now. And then when they started this place, I obviously had to help. So. Long story short, I guess, fuck that guy.” She pointed at the medicine bottle clutched in Marcus’s hand.

Marcus wet his lips. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you, so, it’s fine.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “I, um. I didn’t know, either. He’s kind of a monster, but it sucks finding out he was a monster to… someone else, too. Not surprising. Just shitty.”

Hearing the older man grunt as he pounded into Marcus, hearing their bodies slap against each other, hearing the colonel’s belt buckle jingle with each thrust, all while Marcus takes it in perfect silence. He’s been trained to handle pain. He can take far more than this without screaming.

“Y-yeah,” Marcus breathed. “Yeah, it’s… shitty.” He turned to go.

“I’ll see if I can get the scrip under a new name,” Celeste said to his back. “Since… I’ll see if I can do that.”

He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Thank you, Celeste,” he said, and she buzzed him back through the door. Once he was alone again, he peeled the label off the bottle and tucked it back into the torn white paper bag.

If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.

The arm was fucking annoying today. It didn’t hurt – Marcus had been beaten, stabbed, shot, and fucked by half the base by the time he was twenty-five years old, so this didn’t even come close – but it was a constant, nagging throb that began at his metal fingertips and radiated all the way up his arm, into the shoulder where the arm plugged in, and past that. Even the muscles that ran between his neck and shoulder hurt – only they didn’t hurt; he’d felt pain before, and this wasn’t pain. This was just… an ache. And it wasn’t bad. He could handle it. It was fine.

Working took his mind off things, and that was good. Being around Jake helped, too. And being around… other people. Normal people. Being around them, having them be okay with being around him… it was all good. It all helped. It all helped him feel like a person.

It made him feel more normal than the weird, anxious-ass guy who followed Lars around like a puppy all day, that was for fucking sure. Tobias. Wouldn’t last one goddamn week as a Lev, Marcus thought darkly.

No one should have to last a week as a Lev, came a thought on that one’s heels. That thought sounded and felt more like Jake. Marcus was okay with Jake living in his head. The thoughts that mind-Jake came up with were usually nicer than Marcus’s own thoughts, so he almost looked forward to the times they would pop up unannounced.

“Hey, um, Marcus?” came a hesitant voice from the doorway of the room Marcus was deep cleaning with a cloth and toothbrush, breaking his reverie.

Speaking of popping up unannounced.

“Yeah, Tobias,” Marcus said flatly, tilting his head so he could see the kid in his peripherals.

Tobias laced his fingers together in front of himself. “Um… Celeste said she had something for you at the front desk. For you or, um, Jake. But Jake’s giving someone an injection right now, so I just figured I’d—”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Marcus said, pushing himself from his hands and knees to his feet. He towered over Tobias once he was upright. The kid stepped backward into the hall to let him pass, and Marcus shouldered his way toward the front desk.

Celeste glanced up at him as he approached, then reached under the desk to hand him a white paper bag. “Your boy’s next dose came in,” she said as she handed the package out to him.

Marcus tore the bag open and fumbled with the orange pill bottle inside. “Next dose of…” He trailed off as he read the name on the bottle. A trickle of icy cold ran down the back of his neck.

Quinton, Robert.

“PEP,” Celeste said, waving her hand dismissively at the bottle.

Marcus stared at the bottle in his hand, reading the name over and over again. Quinton, Robert. He could see the name tag in his mind: white stamped into black, shiny and perfectly straight on a forest green uniform.

Robert             Quinton

Colonel            AMTEC

He could see the nametag on the jacket after it had been taken off and laid across the desk. He could see it close to his face as he was bent over that desk, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down as he was spread apart and fucked.

He felt the scar on his hip flare to life, as if the lit cigar had been pressed there all over again.

He raised his gaze to Celeste, only too aware that he had frozen in front of her. “Wh-whose meds are these?” he managed through numb lips.

“Oh, they’re Jake’s,” she said distractedly as she adjusted her chair. “I just put them in under my dad’s name as a fuck you to—”

Marcus let out a choked sound. “Your dad.”

At that, Celeste looked up at him. She must have seen something in Marcus’s face, because her eyes went wide. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Why…?”

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus breathed. “Your… dad… And is he… AMTEC?”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ colonel or something, last time I heard,” Celeste snapped. “Why, are you…” She took a breath. “Fuck, Marcus, are you okay?”

He nodded automatically. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll… take these to Jake, and—”

“Wait,” Celeste whispered. “Did he… Did you know him?”

Gritting his teeth, grinding his forehead against the desk. One hand squeezing into a fist as his arm was pulled behind his back – not that he would have fought, not the colonel.

Not that he would have fought a fucking corporal. No one would have batted an eye at any of the enlisted or officers using him, as long as they didn’t damage him. By the time the colonel got to him, he’d already been so run through, it was practically expected. So he just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together against the sick motion into him, the pain – that was pain – the horrible humiliation of having his pants around his ankles and his ass out for fucking.

Robert Quinton. He wasn’t even the worst, even with the cigar burn. He’d only fucked him two or three times, hadn’t even smacked Marcus around beforehand.

Celeste had asked him a question. Did you know him? “Yeah,” Marcus croaked.

She was watching him. There was no one else in the lobby, he realized belatedly, and for that he was profoundly grateful.

“Fucked you up, huh?” Celeste said.

Marcus just nodded again. He would have agreed to anything she said, really. He couldn’t feel his fingers. The pill bottle in his hand rattled. He nearly dropped it.

“Yeah, well.” She twisted her back in her chair. “Welcome to the fuckin’ club.”

He looked at her. “…what?”

She kept her eyes down, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. “What is there to tell? He was trying to make me go into the AMTEC officer academy. Made me get the senator letters, submit my high school transcript, everything. I was set to go. I told him I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t hear it. Something about ‘making me a real man’ or some bullshit like that. He threatened to cut me off if I didn’t go. He owned my phone, my car, read my messages, tracked me everywhere…” She shrugged. “So the night before I was supposed to ship out, I fell down the stairs.”

Marcus blinked. “You… fell?”

“I fell.” She traced her finger along her wrist.

Along a scar at her wrist. A surgical scar.

“Oh,” Marcus breathed.

Celeste let out a bitter laugh. “AMTEC is very strict about who they let in. Or at least, who they let be an officer. They’ll let anyone join their fuckin’ city goon squad, but for the upper echelon, they have this, like… hundred-point physical you have to pass. You can’t have any ‘physical or mental defects’. At least when you’re a cadet.”

“I know,” Marcus said softly. “Levs have the same requirements.”

“Right.” She let out a bitter laugh. “When I fell, I broke my back, and fucked up my wrist pretty bad. I can do a desk job, but they won’t let anyone in who’s only cut out for that. Something about… battle readiness or some stupid shit like that. Plus, they don’t let trannies in at all now.” She snorted. “Dad wouldn’t pay any of my medical bills and kicked me off his insurance. Had to rely on the fuckin’ poor people shit, and that covers pretty much nothing. Ended up on a friend’s couch begging for mutual aid online. That’s how I met Lars, actually.”

Marcus didn’t say anything. The bottle was heating up in his hand.

“They saw my posts and let me crash on their couch, taught me some PT that actually helped a lot. They helped get me the job at the lab I work at now. And then when they started this place, I obviously had to help. So. Long story short, I guess, fuck that guy.” She pointed at the medicine bottle clutched in Marcus’s hand.

Marcus wet his lips. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you, so, it’s fine.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “I, um. I didn’t know, either. He’s kind of a monster, but it sucks finding out he was a monster to… someone else, too. Not surprising. Just shitty.”

Hearing the older man grunt as he pounded into Marcus, hearing their bodies slap against each other, hearing the colonel’s belt buckle jingle with each thrust, all while Marcus takes it in perfect silence. He’s been trained to handle pain. He can take far more than this without screaming.

“Y-yeah,” Marcus breathed. “Yeah, it’s… shitty.” He turned to go.

“I’ll see if I can get the scrip under a new name,” Celeste said to his back. “Since… I’ll see if I can do that.”

He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Thank you, Celeste,” he said, and she buzzed him back through the door. Once he was alone again, he peeled the label off the bottle and tucked it back into the torn white paper bag.

If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.

The arm was fucking annoying today. It didn’t hurt – Marcus had been beaten, stabbed, shot, and fucked by half the base by the time he was twenty-five years old, so this didn’t even come close – but it was a constant, nagging throb that began at his metal fingertips and radiated all the way up his arm, into the shoulder where the arm plugged in, and past that. Even the muscles that ran between his neck and shoulder hurt – only they didn’t hurt; he’d felt pain before, and this wasn’t pain. This was just… an ache. And it wasn’t bad. He could handle it. It was fine.

Working took his mind off things, and that was good. Being around Jake helped, too. And being around… other people. Normal people. Being around them, having them be okay with being around him… it was all good. It all helped. It all helped him feel like a person.

It made him feel more normal than the weird, anxious-ass guy who followed Lars around like a puppy all day, that was for fucking sure. Tobias. Wouldn’t last one goddamn week as a Lev, Marcus thought darkly.

No one should have to last a week as a Lev, came a thought on that one’s heels. That thought sounded and felt more like Jake. Marcus was okay with Jake living in his head. The thoughts that mind-Jake came up with were usually nicer than Marcus’s own thoughts, so he almost looked forward to the times they would pop up unannounced.

“Hey, um, Marcus?” came a hesitant voice from the doorway of the room Marcus was deep cleaning with a cloth and toothbrush, breaking his reverie.

Speaking of popping up unannounced.

“Yeah, Tobias,” Marcus said flatly, tilting his head so he could see the kid in his peripherals.

Tobias laced his fingers together in front of himself. “Um… Celeste said she had something for you at the front desk. For you or, um, Jake. But Jake’s giving someone an injection right now, so I just figured I’d—”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Marcus said, pushing himself from his hands and knees to his feet. He towered over Tobias once he was upright. The kid stepped backward into the hall to let him pass, and Marcus shouldered his way toward the front desk.

Celeste glanced up at him as he approached, then reached under the desk to hand him a white paper bag. “Your boy’s next dose came in,” she said as she handed the package out to him.

Marcus tore the bag open and fumbled with the orange pill bottle inside. “Next dose of…” He trailed off as he read the name on the bottle. A trickle of icy cold ran down the back of his neck.

Quinton, Robert.

“PEP,” Celeste said, waving her hand dismissively at the bottle.

Marcus stared at the bottle in his hand, reading the name over and over again. Quinton, Robert. He could see the name tag in his mind: white stamped into black, shiny and perfectly straight on a forest green uniform.

Robert             Quinton

Colonel            AMTEC

He could see the nametag on the jacket after it had been taken off and laid across the desk. He could see it close to his face as he was bent over that desk, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down as he was spread apart and fucked.

He felt the scar on his hip flare to life, as if the lit cigar had been pressed there all over again.

He raised his gaze to Celeste, only too aware that he had frozen in front of her. “Wh-whose meds are these?” he managed through numb lips.

“Oh, they’re Jake’s,” she said distractedly as she adjusted her chair. “I just put them in under my dad’s name as a fuck you to—”

Marcus let out a choked sound. “Your dad.”

At that, Celeste looked up at him. She must have seen something in Marcus’s face, because her eyes went wide. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Why…?”

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus breathed. “Your… dad… And is he… AMTEC?”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ colonel or something, last time I heard,” Celeste snapped. “Why, are you…” She took a breath. “Fuck, Marcus, are you okay?”

He nodded automatically. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll… take these to Jake, and—”

“Wait,” Celeste whispered. “Did he… Did you know him?”

Gritting his teeth, grinding his forehead against the desk. One hand squeezing into a fist as his arm was pulled behind his back – not that he would have fought, not the colonel.

Not that he would have fought a fucking corporal. No one would have batted an eye at any of the enlisted or officers using him, as long as they didn’t damage him. By the time the colonel got to him, he’d already been so run through, it was practically expected. So he just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together against the sick motion into him, the pain – that was pain – the horrible humiliation of having his pants around his ankles and his ass out for fucking.

Robert Quinton. He wasn’t even the worst, even with the cigar burn. He’d only fucked him two or three times, hadn’t even smacked Marcus around beforehand.

Celeste had asked him a question. Did you know him? “Yeah,” Marcus croaked.

She was watching him. There was no one else in the lobby, he realized belatedly, and for that he was profoundly grateful.

“Fucked you up, huh?” Celeste said.

Marcus just nodded again. He would have agreed to anything she said, really. He couldn’t feel his fingers. The pill bottle in his hand rattled. He nearly dropped it.

“Yeah, well.” She twisted her back in her chair. “Welcome to the fuckin’ club.”

He looked at her. “…what?”

She kept her eyes down, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. “What is there to tell? He was trying to make me go into the AMTEC officer academy. Made me get the senator letters, submit my high school transcript, everything. I was set to go. I told him I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t hear it. Something about ‘making me a real man’ or some bullshit like that. He threatened to cut me off if I didn’t go. He owned my phone, my car, read my messages, tracked me everywhere…” She shrugged. “So the night before I was supposed to ship out, I fell down the stairs.”

Marcus blinked. “You… fell?”

“I fell.” She traced her finger along her wrist.

Along a scar at her wrist. A surgical scar.

“Oh,” Marcus breathed.

Celeste let out a bitter laugh. “AMTEC is very strict about who they let in. Or at least, who they let be an officer. They’ll let anyone join their fuckin’ city goon squad, but for the upper echelon, they have this, like… hundred-point physical you have to pass. You can’t have any ‘physical or mental defects’. At least when you’re a cadet.”

“I know,” Marcus said softly. “Levs have the same requirements.”

“Right.” She let out a bitter laugh. “When I fell, I broke my back, and fucked up my wrist pretty bad. I can do a desk job, but they won’t let anyone in who’s only cut out for that. Something about… battle readiness or some stupid shit like that. Plus, they don’t let trannies in at all now.” She snorted. “Dad wouldn’t pay any of my medical bills and kicked me off his insurance. Had to rely on the fuckin’ poor people shit, and that covers pretty much nothing. Ended up on a friend’s couch begging for mutual aid online. That’s how I met Lars, actually.”

Marcus didn’t say anything. The bottle was heating up in his hand.

“They saw my posts and let me crash on their couch, taught me some PT that actually helped a lot. They helped get me the job at the lab I work at now. And then when they started this place, I obviously had to help. So. Long story short, I guess, fuck that guy.” She pointed at the medicine bottle clutched in Marcus’s hand.

Marcus wet his lips. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you, so, it’s fine.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “I, um. I didn’t know, either. He’s kind of a monster, but it sucks finding out he was a monster to… someone else, too. Not surprising. Just shitty.”

Hearing the older man grunt as he pounded into Marcus, hearing their bodies slap against each other, hearing the colonel’s belt buckle jingle with each thrust, all while Marcus takes it in perfect silence. He’s been trained to handle pain. He can take far more than this without screaming.

“Y-yeah,” Marcus breathed. “Yeah, it’s… shitty.” He turned to go.

“I’ll see if I can get the scrip under a new name,” Celeste said to his back. “Since… I’ll see if I can do that.”

He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Thank you, Celeste,” he said, and she buzzed him back through the door. Once he was alone again, he peeled the label off the bottle and tucked it back into the torn white paper bag.

If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.

Marcus was deep cleaning with a cloth and toothbrush,

boi that better not just be your standard cleaning rollout. you better be cleaning something small and delicate needing the fine bristles of a toothbrush and Not you not realizing there are better cleaning brushes now that youre a person hey come back here-

“Your boy’s next dose came in,”

aww your boy <3

But Jake’s giving someone an injection right now, so I just figured I’d—”

jake getting medical training 👀

He could see the name tag in his mind: white stamped into black, shiny and perfectly straight on a forest green uniform.

oh no

He could see it close to his face as he was bent over that desk, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down as he was spread apart and fucked.

rip marcus.

not that he would have fought, not the colonel. Not that he would have fought a fucking corporal.

just all the way to the top huh

“I know,” Marcus said softly. “Levs have the same requirements.”

The arm was fucking annoying today. It didn’t hurt – Marcus had been beaten, stabbed, shot, and fucked by half the base by the time he was twenty-five years old, so this didn’t even come close – but it was a constant, nagging throb that began at his metal fingertips and radiated all the way up his arm, into the shoulder where the arm plugged in, and past that. Even the muscles that ran between his neck and shoulder hurt – only they didn’t hurt; he’d felt pain before, and this wasn’t pain. This was just… an ache. And it wasn’t bad. He could handle it. It was fine.

Working took his mind off things, and that was good. Being around Jake helped, too. And being around… other people. Normal people. Being around them, having them be okay with being around him… it was all good. It all helped. It all helped him feel like a person.

It made him feel more normal than the weird, anxious-ass guy who followed Lars around like a puppy all day, that was for fucking sure. Tobias. Wouldn’t last one goddamn week as a Lev, Marcus thought darkly.

No one should have to last a week as a Lev, came a thought on that one’s heels. That thought sounded and felt more like Jake. Marcus was okay with Jake living in his head. The thoughts that mind-Jake came up with were usually nicer than Marcus’s own thoughts, so he almost looked forward to the times they would pop up unannounced.

“Hey, um, Marcus?” came a hesitant voice from the doorway of the room Marcus was deep cleaning with a cloth and toothbrush, breaking his reverie.

Speaking of popping up unannounced.

“Yeah, Tobias,” Marcus said flatly, tilting his head so he could see the kid in his peripherals.

Tobias laced his fingers together in front of himself. “Um… Celeste said she had something for you at the front desk. For you or, um, Jake. But Jake’s giving someone an injection right now, so I just figured I’d—”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Marcus said, pushing himself from his hands and knees to his feet. He towered over Tobias once he was upright. The kid stepped backward into the hall to let him pass, and Marcus shouldered his way toward the front desk.

Celeste glanced up at him as he approached, then reached under the desk to hand him a white paper bag. “Your boy’s next dose came in,” she said as she handed the package out to him.

Marcus tore the bag open and fumbled with the orange pill bottle inside. “Next dose of…” He trailed off as he read the name on the bottle. A trickle of icy cold ran down the back of his neck.

Quinton, Robert.

“PEP,” Celeste said, waving her hand dismissively at the bottle.

Marcus stared at the bottle in his hand, reading the name over and over again. Quinton, Robert. He could see the name tag in his mind: white stamped into black, shiny and perfectly straight on a forest green uniform.

Robert             Quinton

Colonel            AMTEC

He could see the nametag on the jacket after it had been taken off and laid across the desk. He could see it close to his face as he was bent over that desk, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down as he was spread apart and fucked.

He felt the scar on his hip flare to life, as if the lit cigar had been pressed there all over again.

He raised his gaze to Celeste, only too aware that he had frozen in front of her. “Wh-whose meds are these?” he managed through numb lips.

“Oh, they’re Jake’s,” she said distractedly as she adjusted her chair. “I just put them in under my dad’s name as a fuck you to—”

Marcus let out a choked sound. “Your dad.”

At that, Celeste looked up at him. She must have seen something in Marcus’s face, because her eyes went wide. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Why…?”

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus breathed. “Your… dad… And is he… AMTEC?”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ colonel or something, last time I heard,” Celeste snapped. “Why, are you…” She took a breath. “Fuck, Marcus, are you okay?”

He nodded automatically. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll… take these to Jake, and—”

“Wait,” Celeste whispered. “Did he… Did you know him?”

Gritting his teeth, grinding his forehead against the desk. One hand squeezing into a fist as his arm was pulled behind his back – not that he would have fought, not the colonel.

Not that he would have fought a fucking corporal. No one would have batted an eye at any of the enlisted or officers using him, as long as they didn’t damage him. By the time the colonel got to him, he’d already been so run through, it was practically expected. So he just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together against the sick motion into him, the pain – that was pain – the horrible humiliation of having his pants around his ankles and his ass out for fucking.

Robert Quinton. He wasn’t even the worst, even with the cigar burn. He’d only fucked him two or three times, hadn’t even smacked Marcus around beforehand.

Celeste had asked him a question. Did you know him? “Yeah,” Marcus croaked.

She was watching him. There was no one else in the lobby, he realized belatedly, and for that he was profoundly grateful.

“Fucked you up, huh?” Celeste said.

Marcus just nodded again. He would have agreed to anything she said, really. He couldn’t feel his fingers. The pill bottle in his hand rattled. He nearly dropped it.

“Yeah, well.” She twisted her back in her chair. “Welcome to the fuckin’ club.”

He looked at her. “…what?”

She kept her eyes down, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. “What is there to tell? He was trying to make me go into the AMTEC officer academy. Made me get the senator letters, submit my high school transcript, everything. I was set to go. I told him I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t hear it. Something about ‘making me a real man’ or some bullshit like that. He threatened to cut me off if I didn’t go. He owned my phone, my car, read my messages, tracked me everywhere…” She shrugged. “So the night before I was supposed to ship out, I fell down the stairs.”

Marcus blinked. “You… fell?”

“I fell.” She traced her finger along her wrist.

Along a scar at her wrist. A surgical scar.

“Oh,” Marcus breathed.

Celeste let out a bitter laugh. “AMTEC is very strict about who they let in. Or at least, who they let be an officer. They’ll let anyone join their fuckin’ city goon squad, but for the upper echelon, they have this, like… hundred-point physical you have to pass. You can’t have any ‘physical or mental defects’. At least when you’re a cadet.”

“I know,” Marcus said softly. “Levs have the same requirements.”

“Right.” She let out a bitter laugh. “When I fell, I broke my back, and fucked up my wrist pretty bad. I can do a desk job, but they won’t let anyone in who’s only cut out for that. Something about… battle readiness or some stupid shit like that. Plus, they don’t let trannies in at all now.” She snorted. “Dad wouldn’t pay any of my medical bills and kicked me off his insurance. Had to rely on the fuckin’ poor people shit, and that covers pretty much nothing. Ended up on a friend’s couch begging for mutual aid online. That’s how I met Lars, actually.”

Marcus didn’t say anything. The bottle was heating up in his hand.

“They saw my posts and let me crash on their couch, taught me some PT that actually helped a lot. They helped get me the job at the lab I work at now. And then when they started this place, I obviously had to help. So. Long story short, I guess, fuck that guy.” She pointed at the medicine bottle clutched in Marcus’s hand.

Marcus wet his lips. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you, so, it’s fine.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “I, um. I didn’t know, either. He’s kind of a monster, but it sucks finding out he was a monster to… someone else, too. Not surprising. Just shitty.”

Hearing the older man grunt as he pounded into Marcus, hearing their bodies slap against each other, hearing the colonel’s belt buckle jingle with each thrust, all while Marcus takes it in perfect silence. He’s been trained to handle pain. He can take far more than this without screaming.

“Y-yeah,” Marcus breathed. “Yeah, it’s… shitty.” He turned to go.

“I’ll see if I can get the scrip under a new name,” Celeste said to his back. “Since… I’ll see if I can do that.”

He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Thank you, Celeste,” he said, and she buzzed him back through the door. Once he was alone again, he peeled the label off the bottle and tucked it back into the torn white paper bag.

If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.

The arm was fucking annoying today. It didn’t hurt – Marcus had been beaten, stabbed, shot, and fucked by half the base by the time he was twenty-five years old, so this didn’t even come close – but it was a constant, nagging throb that began at his metal fingertips and radiated all the way up his arm, into the shoulder where the arm plugged in, and past that. Even the muscles that ran between his neck and shoulder hurt – only they didn’t hurt; he’d felt pain before, and this wasn’t pain. This was just… an ache. And it wasn’t bad. He could handle it. It was fine.

Working took his mind off things, and that was good. Being around Jake helped, too. And being around… other people. Normal people. Being around them, having them be okay with being around him… it was all good. It all helped. It all helped him feel like a person.

It made him feel more normal than the weird, anxious-ass guy who followed Lars around like a puppy all day, that was for fucking sure. Tobias. Wouldn’t last one goddamn week as a Lev, Marcus thought darkly.

No one should have to last a week as a Lev, came a thought on that one’s heels. That thought sounded and felt more like Jake. Marcus was okay with Jake living in his head. The thoughts that mind-Jake came up with were usually nicer than Marcus’s own thoughts, so he almost looked forward to the times they would pop up unannounced.

“Hey, um, Marcus?” came a hesitant voice from the doorway of the room Marcus was deep cleaning with a cloth and toothbrush, breaking his reverie.

Speaking of popping up unannounced.

“Yeah, Tobias,” Marcus said flatly, tilting his head so he could see the kid in his peripherals.

Tobias laced his fingers together in front of himself. “Um… Celeste said she had something for you at the front desk. For you or, um, Jake. But Jake’s giving someone an injection right now, so I just figured I’d—”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Marcus said, pushing himself from his hands and knees to his feet. He towered over Tobias once he was upright. The kid stepped backward into the hall to let him pass, and Marcus shouldered his way toward the front desk.

Celeste glanced up at him as he approached, then reached under the desk to hand him a white paper bag. “Your boy’s next dose came in,” she said as she handed the package out to him.

Marcus tore the bag open and fumbled with the orange pill bottle inside. “Next dose of…” He trailed off as he read the name on the bottle. A trickle of icy cold ran down the back of his neck.

Quinton, Robert.

“PEP,” Celeste said, waving her hand dismissively at the bottle.

Marcus stared at the bottle in his hand, reading the name over and over again. Quinton, Robert. He could see the name tag in his mind: white stamped into black, shiny and perfectly straight on a forest green uniform.

Robert             Quinton

Colonel            AMTEC

He could see the nametag on the jacket after it had been taken off and laid across the desk. He could see it close to his face as he was bent over that desk, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down as he was spread apart and fucked.

He felt the scar on his hip flare to life, as if the lit cigar had been pressed there all over again.

He raised his gaze to Celeste, only too aware that he had frozen in front of her. “Wh-whose meds are these?” he managed through numb lips.

“Oh, they’re Jake’s,” she said distractedly as she adjusted her chair. “I just put them in under my dad’s name as a fuck you to—”

Marcus let out a choked sound. “Your dad.”

At that, Celeste looked up at him. She must have seen something in Marcus’s face, because her eyes went wide. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Why…?”

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus breathed. “Your… dad… And is he… AMTEC?”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ colonel or something, last time I heard,” Celeste snapped. “Why, are you…” She took a breath. “Fuck, Marcus, are you okay?”

He nodded automatically. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll… take these to Jake, and—”

“Wait,” Celeste whispered. “Did he… Did you know him?”

Gritting his teeth, grinding his forehead against the desk. One hand squeezing into a fist as his arm was pulled behind his back – not that he would have fought, not the colonel.

Not that he would have fought a fucking corporal. No one would have batted an eye at any of the enlisted or officers using him, as long as they didn’t damage him. By the time the colonel got to him, he’d already been so run through, it was practically expected. So he just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together against the sick motion into him, the pain – that was pain – the horrible humiliation of having his pants around his ankles and his ass out for fucking.

Robert Quinton. He wasn’t even the worst, even with the cigar burn. He’d only fucked him two or three times, hadn’t even smacked Marcus around beforehand.

Celeste had asked him a question. Did you know him? “Yeah,” Marcus croaked.

She was watching him. There was no one else in the lobby, he realized belatedly, and for that he was profoundly grateful.

“Fucked you up, huh?” Celeste said.

Marcus just nodded again. He would have agreed to anything she said, really. He couldn’t feel his fingers. The pill bottle in his hand rattled. He nearly dropped it.

“Yeah, well.” She twisted her back in her chair. “Welcome to the fuckin’ club.”

He looked at her. “…what?”

She kept her eyes down, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. “What is there to tell? He was trying to make me go into the AMTEC officer academy. Made me get the senator letters, submit my high school transcript, everything. I was set to go. I told him I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t hear it. Something about ‘making me a real man’ or some bullshit like that. He threatened to cut me off if I didn’t go. He owned my phone, my car, read my messages, tracked me everywhere…” She shrugged. “So the night before I was supposed to ship out, I fell down the stairs.”

Marcus blinked. “You… fell?”

“I fell.” She traced her finger along her wrist.

Along a scar at her wrist. A surgical scar.

“Oh,” Marcus breathed.

Celeste let out a bitter laugh. “AMTEC is very strict about who they let in. Or at least, who they let be an officer. They’ll let anyone join their fuckin’ city goon squad, but for the upper echelon, they have this, like… hundred-point physical you have to pass. You can’t have any ‘physical or mental defects’. At least when you’re a cadet.”

“I know,” Marcus said softly. “Levs have the same requirements.”

“Right.” She let out a bitter laugh. “When I fell, I broke my back, and fucked up my wrist pretty bad. I can do a desk job, but they won’t let anyone in who’s only cut out for that. Something about… battle readiness or some stupid shit like that. Plus, they don’t let trannies in at all now.” She snorted. “Dad wouldn’t pay any of my medical bills and kicked me off his insurance. Had to rely on the fuckin’ poor people shit, and that covers pretty much nothing. Ended up on a friend’s couch begging for mutual aid online. That’s how I met Lars, actually.”

Marcus didn’t say anything. The bottle was heating up in his hand.

“They saw my posts and let me crash on their couch, taught me some PT that actually helped a lot. They helped get me the job at the lab I work at now. And then when they started this place, I obviously had to help. So. Long story short, I guess, fuck that guy.” She pointed at the medicine bottle clutched in Marcus’s hand.

Marcus wet his lips. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you, so, it’s fine.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “I, um. I didn’t know, either. He’s kind of a monster, but it sucks finding out he was a monster to… someone else, too. Not surprising. Just shitty.”

Hearing the older man grunt as he pounded into Marcus, hearing their bodies slap against each other, hearing the colonel’s belt buckle jingle with each thrust, all while Marcus takes it in perfect silence. He’s been trained to handle pain. He can take far more than this without screaming.

“Y-yeah,” Marcus breathed. “Yeah, it’s… shitty.” He turned to go.

“I’ll see if I can get the scrip under a new name,” Celeste said to his back. “Since… I’ll see if I can do that.”

He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Thank you, Celeste,” he said, and she buzzed him back through the door. Once he was alone again, he peeled the label off the bottle and tucked it back into the torn white paper bag.

If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.